The groundhog was unequivocally correct. Winter has indeed decided to stay a while longer. I can’t say whether or not it will be six whole weeks (although in deference to my diet, I certainly hope we have at least that long) but winter is most assuredly here right now—even in the northern suburbs of Atlanta, Georgia where I live.
When the threat of a snowstorm was just a whisper this morning, my coworkers swore it wouldn’t happen. It doesn’t snow like that in Atlanta, a city that frequently goes by the moniker of Hotlanta. Well, the only thing hot in Atlanta tonight is my fireplace. In the ten years that I have lived in Atlanta, this is only the second time I can recall seeing this much snow.
So much for Global warming. Or perhaps it is evidence in support of Global warming. I’m not here to argue science or politics, but I could introduce you to someone who gladly will.
My father.
I have an FBI file. I can only imagine what it says, but there is no question in my mind that it exists. My phones are probably tapped. My house is probably being watched by one of those spy satellites that stalk dangerous people. My name is probably one of the favorites on an international watch list at all of the airports. Why? My father, who I love dearly and have the utmost respect for, is one of the co-founders of a subversive patriots group formed by Tea Partiers in Pennsylvania. He goes on marches. He has meetings. I don’t know what they talk about at these meetings, but his wife says she can’t understand them, so I’m guessing they don’t speak in the same language regular people speak in. He is a card carrying member of the NRA with a permit to carry a concealed weapon (and apparently, he never leaves home without it), because he is certain that we are only moments away from the next revolution. And he even thinks Sarah Palin is smart! I’m not certain, but I think he may have built a self sustaining bomb shelter in his basement, where he is cranking out elaborate artillery disguised as reproduction furniture. I’ve seen the pictures of him using a sewing machine, but he can’t fool me. Those were not chair cushions he was building, those were missile casings!
Dad thinks everyone should be armed—sort of like the old west, I imagine. Back in the day when you could shoot a man for looking at your horse funny and it would be considered a justifiable homicide. Although, back then there were more horses than women, so that just might have been your wife!
My step-mother also has a permit to carry a weapon, and she carries her gun just in case my dad goes nuts and she has to take him down. I can’t imagine what sort of scenario would have to occur for that to happen, but I’m sure she would be up to the task if it came to that.
I don’t know exactly when my father became so politically involved, but I’m not surprised by his “all in” approach. He has always been a believer in the philosophy, “if you’re going to do something, you may as well be the best at it.” I have always strived to be the best at everything I do, and I’m sure that is something I learned from my dad. I’m a good singer, a pretty good writer, I bake a mean chocolate chip cookie, and I can’t be beat at trivia. However, none of these things require me to carry a gun, and that’s probably a good thing, because I’ve never been very coordinated, and I would probably shoot my toes off or something.
Just for the record,( listen up all you FBI guys out there,) I don’t belong to any groups or clubs, other than my neighborhood book club (but just ask anyone, I never even read the book.)
Maybe I should get more involved, but for now I’ll leave that up to my dad. He’s semi retired now. He has more time to storm the Bastille than I do. But take my word for it; if you see him coming, you’d better get out of the way!
Until the next time…I’ll be hiding in the bunker!